Turnabout Valentine
by gypsymaria
Summary: Detective Gumshoe is suspected of murdering a tabloid reporter, and it's up to Phoenix Wright to defend him! But who's that in the Prosecutor's stand... Edgeworth!
1. Chapter 1

Here's a fic I'm writing, and hoping to finish by Valentine's day. Very slight, implied Gumshoe/Edgeworth and Wright/Edgeworth themes, but I promise the focus is on the mystery and drama. As of this posting, I have the first two chapters finished, and have the third about halfway done.

Title: Turnabout Valentine

Author: Gypsy-Maria Lorimer (snowbunny)

Summary: Detective Gumshoe is suspected of murdering a tabloid reporter, and it's up to Phoenix Wright to defend him! But who's that in the Prosecutor's stand... Edgeworth?!

Timeline: Stand-alone, maybe slightly AU. At the time of writing this, I've played through the first game and the first case of the second game. In this fic, Edgeworth is still around and has not gone missing.

Archive: Go ahead, but please give credit where it's due. My e-mail is gypsymaria (at) gmail (dot) com.

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Chapter One

Day One. February 11, 7:45 a.m., Wright & Co. Law Office

Ring! Ring! Beep.

"Hello?" I answered my cell phone groggily. It took me a moment to remember where I was.

"Turn on your television."

I blinked and rolled into a sitting position on the leather couch in my office, stretching the kinks from my back. I found myself spending the night in the office more often now. It saved on transportation costs, since all I did was go to and from the office and home every day, and I had pretty much everything I needed at the office aside from a kitchen. Most importantly, I had a television, which I obediently turned on after fumbling wth the remote.

"... and that's the weekly forecast. Back to you, Dave."

"It's on. Who is this?" The voice who had given the command sounded maddeningly familiar, but my sleep-muddled brain couldn't place it at the moment.

"Watch." Still familiar, but not enough to go on yet. It was definitely male. That was all I could tell without more evidence. So, I obeyed, and hoped this mystery would clear itself up shortly.

"In other news, there is chaos at the police station this morning as their very own Detective Gumshoe is arrested for the murder of a tabloid reporter--"

"W-whoa! What?!" I nearly dropped my phone in surprise, staring at the screen as the detective's scruffy, exhausted face appeared. Not unusually, the officer looked sad and a little confused. I couldn't imagine the good-natured Gumshoe murdering anyone-- even a reporter! I remembered my phone and demanded of the mystery caller: "What's this all about? Who are you?"

"A... friend. Take the case, Wright. You're the only one who can." Click.

Staring at the unresponsive phone in my hand, I sighed and turned off the television. "Looks like I'd better get down to the detention center."

February 11, 8:30 a.m., Detention Center

Still wearing yesterday's suit, I was feeling distinctly rumpled and grubby as I walked into the familiar room. I'd interviewed dozens of suspects and clients in this very room. The same security guard that was always there stood at his post, stiff and vigilant as ever. His gaze darted to the other occupant of the room every so often, seeming curious and a little nervous. Detective Gumshoe himself sat in the chair in front of the visiting window, looking even more rumpled and grubby than I felt. I don't know if I should feel better or worse about that, I thought, troubled by how worn and upset he looked. He must have had a rough night. I wonder when they stopped questioning him? I noticed there was a small stain of blood on his shirt, near his right shoulder.

Gumshoe brightened momentarily upon seeing me, then drooped back into his patented "sad puppy" expression that always made me feel as though I'd somehow hurt the burly detective's feelings. "Oh, hey, pal," greeted Gumshoe with only a fraction of his usual enthusiasm. At least he hadn't mistaken me for Larry this time. I think.

"Detective Gumshoe," I returned, taking a seat and leaning forward intently. "I saw you on the news this morning. What happened?"

For a second, the detective looked like he might spill everything, but he caught himself and shook his head. That same guarded, determined look he wore when he was trying not to blab about a case settled firmly in his features. "Can't really say, pal. I guess I just... lost it. I'm guilty. A murderer. If ya came here to offer to defend me, you're wasting your time."

How could I believe him? Whether it was a liability or one of his redeeming qualities, the detective was a terrible liar. His eyes kept flickering from me to the floor, and he wouldn't meet my eyes directly. Also, something rang hollow in his claim. What murderer admitted to "losing it" in such a calm, resigned voice?

"Why don't you start by telling me what happened last night?" I prompted, giving him my best 'trust me, I'm a lawyer' smile. It didn't work on everyone, but Gumshoe fell for it every time. I guess I have an honest face.

He chuckled tiredly. "I just got done telling them all about it. But okay, pal. I'll tell ya, but you gotta promise me you're not gonna try to take my case. It's too late, ya know? I already confessed."

"Detective," I admonished, "you know I always believe in my client's innocence, even if they don't. Remember the Goodman murder? Lana Skye?" At his vacant stare, I added helpfully, "That case you didn't get to work on so much? The Blue Badger was involved."

"Oh! Right!" He pounded his fist into his palm, and winced. Shaking his hand as though it pained him, his unbuttoned sleeve cuffs flopped back a little. I could see that his thick wrist was badly bruised. He must have caught me staring, because he shoved the sleeve back up and put his hand down where I couldn't see it. Hmm, interesting. "Well, I gotta stick with my story, pal. I already told them I did it, and I'm not changing that. Even for you."

I sighed deeply. Though his heart was in the right place, most of the time, Detective Gumshoe was as dense and stubborn as they came. I had a feeling he was completely innocent, but for some reason was unwilling to admit it. Was it like Edgeworth's case, where he really thought he'd done it? Or was it more like Lana Skye's instance, in which case he was trying to cover for someone? I had to know if I was really going to defend him. And, to my surprise, I realized suddenly that I'd already made up my mind to do so the moment I saw him on the television screen that morning.

"Well, then, just tell me what you told the investigators," I finally conceded. It was a place to start, at least.

He nodded. "Right. Well, it all started last night...

"I was in the parking lot of the donut shop down the street, finishing my coffee. This lady with a camera showed up and started messing with me. She was threatening me, saying she had pictures that would ruin my career. Well, I didn't like that, so I tried to take her camera. She struggled, I put my gun to her head to intimidate her, and... and I pulled the trigger."

After this shocking confession, I could only blink in horror for a moment. I think my face must have plainly reflected my feelings, because the detective gave me a tired grimace. "I told you, it's hopeless, pal. I'm going to get capital for this." His voice wavered then, and I could see the fear in him warring with... whatever was so important that he had to lie about it. He drew a deep breath and added bracingly, "It... it's okay. Really. I did wrong, so I'm gonna take what's coming to me like a man. Don't you worry about me, Mr. Wright!"

"Objection!" Now it was Gumshoe's turn to blink at me, taken aback by my outburst. "Damnit, Gumshoe, I don't know who you're trying to protect, or what, or why, but I'm going to get to the bottom of this! You are not going to take the fall for a murder you didn't commit! Now, either you can tell me who really did it, or I'm just going to have to go out there and find the evidence for myself." I was on my feet now, pointing right at the stunned detective and using my best courtroom voice.

Once the surprise wore off, the big guy looked dangerously close to tears. Had I stepped over the line? "Gee, Mr. Wright," he sniffled, reminding me briefly of one of my first clients. "It's awful good of you to believe in me like that, and don't think I don't appreciate it, but..."

"But what?" I demanded, folding my arms.

He shuddered and sighed. I'd never seen him look so defeated. "I can't tell you. Believe me, I wish I could, but... it'd be even worse if I said anything. And not just for me." He shook his head. "You won't get any more than that out of me, pal." That stony set to his jaw told me that this was as far as I was getting with him today. If I wanted to clear the detective's name, it was up to me to do the legwork. Which I fully intended to do.

"Don't you worry, Detective," I assured him. "I will prove your innocence. And when I find the person who really did it, I'm going to want the full story behind this mess." I gave him my best stern lawyer look, but he just sighed again and stared at the floor morosely.

Sometimes I wished my clients would make my job a little easier...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

February 11, 9:00 a.m., Dippy Donuts Parking Lot

It was entirely too early to be standing outside in the freezing wind, staring at chalk outlines and blood stains in a deserted parking lot. Not only that, but the smell of fresh donuts and coffee coming from the Dippy Donuts shop were a sharp reminder that I hadn't had any breakfast. My stomach growled. I vowed to stop inside the donut shop once I'd finished with the parking lot. For, er, more investigation, of course. There might have been witnesses, after all.

The police had mostly finished with their own investigation, though there were still a few milling about the crime scene. It was cordoned off with yellow tape and guarded by several stern-looking patrolmen. The police took crimes involving their own officers very seriously. It wouldn't be easy to get in for some snooping, but luckily I had a signed request for representation from Gumshoe. It had taken some badgering to get it from him, but he'd finally folded.

I approached the officer in charge: a brisk, dark-haired woman who looked to be in her early thirties or late twenties. Not much older than me, maybe, but she wore her experience like another uniform. She might have been attractive if she hadn't been wearing such a thunderous scowl. Letting her hair out of that tight braid once in awhile might have helped, too. But I wasn't there to give the lead investigator fashion tips. I wanted information. And evidence.

Putting on my best 'friendly, harmless defense lawyer smile,' I held out one hand to the officer. "Good morning, detective. My name is Phoenix Wright, Detective Gumshoe's lawyer. Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions?"

She looked me over, and from the look on her face, she wasn't impressed with what she saw. Even after showing her my attorney's badge and letter of representation, she wouldn't so much as return my handshake. "Mr. Wright, I don't see any need for you to be on this crime scene," she told me tersely. "My team is collecting all the evidence that will be needed at the trial. It would appear that your client has made it unquestionably clear that he's the murderer in this case."

"So it would seem," I agreed. "However, I have reason to believe that my client is innocent of murder. The only crime he is guilty of right now, as far as I'm concerned, is covering for the true culprit."

That seemed to get the investigator's attention. She cocked an eyebrow at me and gave me another once-over, as though revising her opinion of me. I got that a lot, though it made me squirm when she did it, as though she were examining a pest that she intended to stamp out under her sensible black boots. "Hmph," she said thoughtfully. It didn't seem like she was dismissing me, though, as she nodded after a moment. "Fine. I'm Detective Jane Rayne, by the way. Ask your questions."

I drilled her on the events of the murder, but there was very little to learn. The autopsy report she showed me (but wouldn't let me keep, much to my frustration) revealed that the victim had been shot at point-blank range through the head. So far, everything seemed to match up with Gumshoe's story. Then, Detective Rayne mentioned something that gave me pause.

"When officers arrived on the scene, Detective Gumshoe's shirt was covered in blood and brain matter, even fragments of skull." That made me shudder. How could she be so calm, describing something like that? "His gun and his shirt were both taken as evidence. Detective Gumshoe's prints were the only ones found on the gun. The gun had been fired twice. One of the bullets was found lodged in the suspect's shoulder, the other in a telephone pole not far from the victim. They both match the ballistic signature of the gun."

"Two shots?" That didn't match with what Gumshoe had told me, but he'd been pretty vague. It certainly explained the blood on his shoulder, especially since it now appeared that he'd changed shirts since the incident. "How did he end up with one of the bullets in his shoulder, if he was the only one who had held the gun?"

"There was a struggle. A witness said he heard the first shot, followed shortly by the second. Apparently, the victim managed to twist the suspect's hand around, causing him to shoot himself in the right shoulder. Then, the suspect took control of the gun again, and shot the victim in the forehead."

I wonder if that has anything to do with the bruises on Gumshoe's wrist? I thought. It seemed increasingly, depressingly as though Gumshoe had been telling the truth after all. At least all the evidence was stacking up against him. No. I know he didn't do it! There's got to be a contradiction in here somewhere!

After a moment's thought, I was still coming up blank. I asked, "What else can you tell me about the victim?"

"It's all in the autopsy report. I won't let you keep it," she seemed to smirk at my frustration, "but I will give you the basic details, if you want to make some notes. The victim's name was Poppy Rotzi. She was a reporter for a new tabloid called Law and Exposure, which focuses on important figures in the political and law community. She had a camera with her. It had film inside, which is at the lab right now being developed."

I perked up at that, but Rayne was apparently a mind-reader, because she shook a finger at me and smirked. It was such a startlingly Edgeworth-esque gesture that I wondered for a second if they were related. "Those photos, if there are any worth seeing, are going straight to the prosecutor, so don't get any funny ideas, buster."

Buster? "Right. I suppose there's nothing else..." Something occurred to me then. "Detective Rayne, can you give me the victim's... er, measurements?"

She looked like she wanted to punch me in the eye for even asking. I hastened to add, "I mean, her physical statistics? Height, weight, general build? I promise, this isn't just idle curiosity. This might be important."

Still not looking entirely convinced, the investigator crossed her arms and gave me a scathing look. "If you must know, she was five-foot-three, about one hundred five pounds, and could be described as 'petite'. Listen, Mr. Wright, do you have anymore real questions about this case, or can I stop wasting my time with you and get back to work?"

I thanked her for her time and excused myself hastily. I'd gotten what I wanted from Detective Rayne, though. The gears were spinning in my head now, and I felt as though I had the beginnings of a real defense for poor Detective Gumshoe. Even without concrete evidence in my hands, I felt confident I could make a good opening argument in court. However, I wanted to make one more stop before I called it a day's work. The trial would be held tomorrow, on the twelfth, and I still had the rest of the day to do some investigation.

It was time to get some breakfast.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

February 11, 10:15 a.m., Dippy Donuts Shop

The aroma of fresh coffee and sweet donuts nearly brought me to my knees as I stepped into the restaurant. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me pointedly that I still hadn't eaten anything that morning, and that if I didn't remedy this fact soon I would suffer the consequences. I staggered up to the counter and resisted the urge to press my hands and drooling tongue up against the glass display case. Instead, I ordered a coffee and two glazed donuts. Taking my breakfast back to one of the little tables, I wolfed down the first donut in no time flat and was starting on the second when a shadow fell over my table.

I looked up, donut crammed halfway into my mouth, and found myself staring at a pretty young girl in a Dippy Donuts apron. She had on one of those frilly paper hats that looked like a sad caricature of a maid's bonnet. I swallowed hard, setting the remaining half of my donut onto the plate and dabbing at my mouth self-consciously with a napkin. "Yes?"

"Oh! Uh, I didn't mean to just stand here like an idiot," she babbled, putting a hand to her lips. I noticed then that she was a fairly tall girl, with an athletic build. Even the delicate gesture of putting her hand to her mouth couldn't disguise the fact that her hands looked strong, like she played sports or something. Despite this ruggedness, she was still very attractive, and had a shapely figure under that Dippy Donuts uniform. "Did you want any cream or sugar for your coffee?"

"Thank you, yes, please." I slid my cup closer so she could pour in the cream and sugar. What service! She seemed a little distracted and nervous, though. "I suppose things are kind of crazy around here right now with all those police officers in your parking lot, eh?"

I was just making polite conversation, but she almost dropped her milk pitcher on my foot. With a yelped apology, she whipped out a towel and patted my pants leg dry where the cream had splattered, then set about mopping up the floor. "I'm so sorry! It's just... we're all a little on edge here, what with the murder and all." She brushed a few strands of auburn hair out of her face and blinked up at me with huge, glimmering green eyes. "Are...are you a cop?"

Taken aback, I stuttered incoherently for a second. Should I tell her the truth, or would she be more impressed if she thought I was one of the plain-clothes detectives? I decided that truth was best, and showed her my attorney's badge. "Actually, I'm a defense lawyer. I'm investigating this case for the trial tomorrow. Is there anything you can tell me about what happened last night?"

She shook her head quickly-- too quickly, maybe-- and gave me an apologetic look. "Nope, sorry. I wasn't working last night. I don't know anything about it. Is it true a cop was involved?"

"Yes, a local detective." Something occurred to me, and though it was a long shot, I decided to ask anyway. "Do you get a lot of cops in here?"

"Oh yeah, all the time!" She beamed cheerfully. "They're all really nice to me. Especially that Detective Gumsh-- oh!"

"What is it?" The waitress had clapped her hand over her mouth as if she'd been caught saying something wrong. Wrong, or revealing. "Do you know something about Detective Gumshoe?"

"No, no, nothing at all," she stammered. "I-I don't know any detectives, nope."

I narrowed my eyes at her sternly. "Miss-- er, what was your name again?"

"Ah, sorry! It's Ida Baker."

"Miss Baker," I continued, back to being stern, "if you know anything about Detective Gumshoe, you should tell me now! A man's life is at stake here!"

She seemed rather taken aback by that, and almost dropped her milk pitcher again, but I caught it swiftly and set it on the table. "I... Oh, my... I guess..." Chewing her lip, Ida glanced down at her feet and fidgeted with her apron. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision, and looked up to meet my gaze with a determined expression. "All right, I'll tell you everything I know!"

I blinked. "Ah... all right, good. Go ahead, then." If only it were always this easy!

"Detective Gumshoe was in here last night, sitting at this very table," she began. "He looked really upset about something. I asked him what was wrong, and he--"

"Hold it," I interrupted. "How did you see Detective Gumshoe here if you weren't here yourself last night?!"

"Oh! See, that's the thing! I was picking up my paycheck last night. It was Friday yesterday, you see?"

Well, that made sense. "Right, okay. Continue."

"Anyway, I saw the detective looking pretty glum. Since he's one of my regulars, I feel a sort of bond with him, you see? I thought it was his relationship troubles again, but he said it was something else. He told me he was meeting with this reporter woman in a little while. Other than that, he wouldn't tell me anything."

I sighed. Well, nothing useful had come of that, though I was surprised to find out that Detective Gumshoe was actually in a relationship. However, the waitress' previous reaction told me she might have been hiding something else. "Did you notice anything else about the detective? Anything unusual?"

She fidgeted again. "Well..."

"Miss Baker!"

"All right! All right! There was one more thing." Taking a deep breath, she rushed along with her story. "I saw something in his hand. It was a weird... I dunno, some lacey bit of cloth. He must have dropped it under the table when he left, because it was lying on the floor. I picked it up and stuck it in my pocket, then forgot all about it until now."

Fishing around in her apron pocket, she produced the aforementioned lacey item. "Here, you can have it, I guess. I don't think it'll do you any good, but I don't have a use for it."

I examined the item closely. It seemed somehow... familiar. "Thank you, Miss Baker. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

She shook her head. "Nope. That's all I know. I swear it!"

"Thank you again, then. I guess I should get going..."

"Hold it!"

We both swiveled our heads to the source of the outburst. It was Detective Rayne! She must have come in at some point, and had been hiding behind a newspaper at a nearby table. "I've heard enough to take you into questioning, Miss Baker. You're coming with me to the precinct. You're a witness!"

"Oh!" gasped the startled waitress. "But my shift isn't over yet!" She gave me an imploring look, but I could only shrug. I felt sorry for the girl, but what could I do? I was just a defense attorney. I didn't have any sway with the police.

"Good job, Mr. Wright. I would have missed this one without your help," the fierce detective told me, a tight smile pulling at her mouth. It looked almost painful, like she didn't have much practice in smiling.

"Don't mention it," I said weakly. I really wished she hadn't mentioned it. I felt a little like a traitor, with Ima's helpless stare burning into me. "I... I should get going now. Thanks for talking with me earlier." I beat a hasty retreat out of the donut shop, leaving my remaining coffee and half a donut behind. In times like this, you had to cut your losses.

Anyway, I had another lead...

February 11, 11:00 a.m., Head Prosecutor's Office

I knew I had seen that lacey whatchamacallit before. Specifically, I remembered somebody wearing it. My first thought had been a woman's handkerchief or something similar. It made sense, considering that Ima had mentioned Gumshoe in a relationship. However, the item was too long for a handkerchief. It was more like the length of a scarf, or a necktie. A cravat. Only two men I had ever met would wear something so ridiculous, and one of them was already in prison. The other was in this office.

"Intrusive as usual, Wright," chided a voice from behind the door. I jumped. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to just walk into the office without knocking, but the door had been ajar and I hadn't seen anyone inside. What? I was just going to leave a note on his desk! "What do you want?"

Then, I remembered. That voice! I'd heard that voice this very morning... on my phone! "Edgeworth," I greeted, turning around to see the prosecuting attorney himself shutting the door. "It's been awhile."

"Did you come here for idle chatter, Wright, or do you have something important to say?" asked the impatient prosecutor. He had his arms crossed over his chest. I half-expected to see him tap his foot. Sure enough, he was wearing his usual wine-colored coat and a fluffy cravat.

"I do, actually. Edgeworth, why did you call me this morning? Why did you point me to this case?"

"I should think it was obvious, Wright." His scowl was positively menacing. "Gumshoe needs the best defense he can get."

I was taken aback. Flattery, from Edgeworth? Something was very wrong here. "Uh, I... uh, thanks. But why didn't you just say so on the phone? Why all the mystery?"

He glanced to the side, not meeting my gaze. "... You might have laughed at me."

"WHAT?!"

"Admit it, Wright. If I had called you up and begged you to take Di-- Detective Gumshoe on as a client, as a favor to me, you would have laughed in my face and hung up the phone." That bitter scowl was back.

That really hurt, that he could think such a thing of me. Didn't he know me better than that? "Edgeworth... No, Miles... I would have done no such thing."

The surprise and suspicion on his face was almost comical after wearing that sour expression. "You... what?"

"I would have said 'yes'. In a heartbeat." I stepped closer to the prosecutor and put a hand on his shoulder. "We might be rivals in the courtroom, but I'll always think of you as a friend. Detective Gumshoe, too. He's a good guy, he's helped me out a few times, and he's obviously a good friend to you as well. How could I not take up his case, knowing he was innocent?"

It was Edgeworth's turn to look taken aback. He seemed speechless for a moment, turning red and just opening and closing his mouth. Finally, he sputtered, "Foolish as always, Wright. I guess I underestimated your foolhardiness, your naivety, your--"

"--my loyalty? My kindness? My inexhaustible drive for justice?" I grinned at him, hands on my hips. "You can thank me later, Edgeworth. Probably by paying me when I win this case. From what I remember, poor Detective Gumshoe's salary won't cover my fees."

Edgeworth smirked at me. "Fair enough, Wright, but if you were a real friend, you'd do it for free."

I grinned back at him sheepishly and scratched the back of my head. "Well, yeah, but they're going to shut off my electricity at the end of the month, so..."

"You're kidding me. Have you had any cases lately?" He looked astonished.

"No. Haven't taken any in awhile." I shrugged. "Maybe I'm too picky."

He snorted, but somehow made even that seem elegant. "Apparently. Well, was there anything else, or may I get back to work? I have a very important case tomorrow."

"Just one last thing." I held out the cravat to him. "Is this one of yours?"

Edgeworth froze, his face draining of all color. "Where did you get that?" He snatched at it, but I stuffed it back into my pocket. "Give it to me, Wright! You can't possibly have any use for it."

That was what the waitress said, too... It was starting to make me think I would find some use for it. "How did Detective Gumshoe end up with it?"

It was an interesting thing, watching a prosecuting attorney go from oatmeal pale to beet red in aught-point-two-five seconds. "Get. Out," he hissed, wrenching the door open and pointing.

"Does this have anything to do with the murder, Edgeworth? If it does, it could be important! You have to tell me! Detective Gumshoe is depending--"

"OUT!" he roared, shoving me through the doorway and slamming the door shut behind me. I stood in the hallway a moment, stunned. Why would Edgeworth act this way? What was he hiding? Why would he hide something if it would help Detective Gumshoe for me to know it? Didn't he want me to win? Wasn't that why he'd asked me to take the case?

Feeling as though I'd only uncovered more questions than answers, I trudged back home for a shower and a clean change of clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Day Two. February 12, 9:45 a.m., District Court Defendant Lobby No. 3

That feeling of dread I used to experience during my first few cases had settled into my stomach. I had enough evidence to present my case, but there was still an overlying sense of unease. I was missing something. Actually, I was missing a lot of somethings, and the most infuriating part of it was that my own client was the one hiding those things from me! How could I possibly defend Gumshoe if he wouldn't let me into his trust?

"No matter, I've done it before," I muttered to myself. Lana Skye had adamantly stuck to her "guilty" plea the entire time, even when I'd finally uncovered the whole truth, and I still managed to win the case. Hopefully, once I turned over a few loose stones, the detective would make things easier on both of us and just tell me what he was hiding.

"I don't think you're going to pull a miracle out of your sleeves this time, Wright." I glanced over at the speaker, and found myself face-to-face with Edgeworth.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, startled. "Ah, wait. Why else would you be in the defendant's lobby? You're here to wish Detective Gumshoe luck, right?"

He blinked, then looked as though he'd had something disagreeable for breakfast. "... Something like that."

"Hey, pals! Am I interrupting?" Speak of the devil. Detective Gumshoe bounded up to us, looking from one to the other as though he weren't sure who he should address first.

"Detective," greeted Edgeworth, his cool, arrogant mask sliding back into place. "I don't look forward to this trial today."

"N-neither do I, sir," stammered Gumshoe, looking miserable and subdued. "I'm sorry, sir. But don't you worry, I'm not going to say--"

"That's enough, Detective!" the prosecutor snapped. He paused, shook his head, and to my great surprise put a hand on Gumshoe's shoulder in an almost... comforting gesture. "I've done all I can. You'll just have to trust in Wright here to do his job... whatever that may entail."

"S-sir!" Gumshoe had that disturbing hero-worship sparkle in his eyes. "Does that mean...?"

"Good day, gentlemen. I'll see you in court, Wright." With a final, cordial nod to the both of us, the prosecutor strode away through the double doors of the courtroom.

I think my jaw must have been on the floor, because Gumshoe gave me a concerned look and asked, "Hey, pal, you okay?"

Closing my mouth and swallowing hard past the dryness in my throat, I fixed my client with an incredulous stare. "He... Edgeworth... He's prosecuting you?!"

"I know, isn't it awful?" Awful, nothing. Gumshoe looked as though he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "I never wanted to put Mr. Edgeworth through something like this..."

"Edgeworth?! What about you? You practically live for that man! I can't even imagine..."

"N-now, pal, it's not like that!" Gumshoe looked around nervously. "Not so loud! I don't want him to hear you saying things like that about us."

"Huh?" I blinked. Why was the detective acting so suspiciously? What did he think I meant? "I was just saying, you're always at Edgeworth's beck and call. You find his evidence, his suspects, and his witnesses. Hell, you even get his books down from the high shelves, don't you?"

"H-how did you know about that?" Now Gumshoe was looking really rattled.

"I didn't. I guessed, and you confirmed it." The detective gave me a stricken look. "Edgeworth isn't good with heights, and who else would he trust with that personal fact? You said yourself, you two have a 'close, trusting relationship.' My point is, you'd do anything to stay in his favor, right? Having him prosecute you must be torture..."

I trailed off then as something clicked in my head. No, it couldn't be... Could it?

"What is it, pal?" I think that if Gumshoe sweated any harder, he'd need to change his suit. "Why do you have this weird look on your face? You look like you just thought of something horribly disturbing, like... Oh no!" He clapped his hands over his mouth. "D-don't look at me like that, Mr. Wright! It's not what you think!"

"You... and Edgeworth..." I swallowed hard. "Detective, what exactly is your relationship with the prosecutor? Is he the one you're trying to protect?"

Detective Gumshoe shook his head violently, hands still clasped over his mouth. "Mmph-mn. Mm moph shayim mmyphm!"

"What?"

He took his hands away from his mouth and repeated, "I'm not saying anything! You hear me, pal? Do what you think you need to do, but I'm not saying a word about anything that has to do with Mr. Edgeworth! I'll take it to my grave, if I have to!"

I was speechless. This was just too much to take in all at once. However, little fragments of ideas began swirling into place with this new discovery. This was why Gumshoe wouldn't tell me what had really happened. Somehow, Edgeworth was involved in all this, and I had to find out how! If I didn't, it would mean sending an innocent man to his death, for no greater crime than protecting the person he cared about.

"You really love him, don't you?" I murmured, almost to myself. I glanced up at Gumshoe to gauge his reaction, and the simple, helpless look in his brown eyes told me all I needed to know. He looked like he wanted to say something, but just then court was called into session. It would have to wait.

February 12, 10:00 a.m., District Court, Courtroom B

That feeling of dread turned into a sort of queasy, butterflies-in-the-stomach flutter as I announced that the defense was ready to begin. The prosecution did the same, though I didn't really pay attention to his opening argument. It was the usual, generic, "The prosecution will prove the defendant's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt." Nothing fancy at all. Down went the gavel, and Edgeworth called his first witness. I kept stealing peeks at him as the testimony was give, but he seemed as cool and collected as usual. I was so distracted by Edgeworth that I didn't hear most of the testimony, and had to ask the witness to go over it again. The judge was not terribly happy with me.

"Mr. Wright, is there something on your mind that is more important than this case?" he asked archly.

"Yes... I mean, no! No, your Honor!" I corrected myself quickly. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

"Hm. See that it doesn't." He nodded to the witness.

Detective Jane Rayne gave me her usual scowl and repeated her testimony. "Detective Gumshoe was seen at the Dippy Donuts shortly before closing time, sitting at a table. After the shop closed, he exited the front door and went around to the parking lot behind the building. There he met with the victim, a tabloid reporter named Poppy Rotzi. They had some sort of argument, a struggle ensued, and he shot her in the head. He was found at the scene of the crime holding her body and covered in her blood, among... other things. The murder weapon was still in his hand."

The judge indicated that I should begin my cross-examination, so I stood and approached the witness stand. "Detective Rayne, when we spoke previously, you mentioned that two shots had been fired, and two bullets had been found. Would you please explain?"

Rayne looked briefly startled, as if she hadn't expected me to remember. Scowling, she nodded. "Yes, there were two shots fired. During the struggle, the gun went off and shot the defendant in the shoulder. Then, he shot the victim in the head at point-blank range. The second bullet went clear through her skull and out the other side, lodging in a telephone pole just behind the victim."

"How close would you say that telephone pole was, exactly?"

"Objection!" Edgeworth shouted. Ah, I was beginning to wonder when he'd speak up. "What relevance does the distance of the telephone pole from the victim have to do with the crime? Unless you're suggesting that the telephone pole did it."

This brought a chuckle from the audience, and the judge banged his gavel for order. "I see your point, Mr. Edgeworth. Mr. Wright, does this have any bearing on the case?"

"Yes, your Honor, and I would appreciate it if the prosecution wouldn't interrupt without good reason," I responded smoothly. Edgeworth gave me a mocking bow and gestured for me to continue, knowing full well that he'd already made me look foolish. Fine. If you want to fight dirty, we'll fight dirty. Just don't whine to me later when I have to drag whatever part you played in all this to light. "If the witness would please answer the question?"

"Not far at all. I'd say about three feet, maybe less."

"And was there any blood on the pole or on the bullet found buried in it?"

This gave the detective pause. She frowned, then replied, "No. Not a trace."

The judge looked confused. "Mr. Wright, does this have any significance?"

"It absolutely does." I drew myself up for a dramatic reveal. I had to ask just a few more questions. "Detective Rayne, would you please describe the victim's wound to the court?"

"It was a single shot to the head, point-blank range. This was obvious from the small entrance wound in the forehead, surrounded by gunpowder burns, and the large exit wound in the back of her head."

"I would think that an exit wound like that would leave a big mess on whatever was behind it, wouldn't it?"

The detective seemed to realize what I was getting at, because she gave me a tight-lipped grimace and looked directly at me, unblinking. "Yes, it would."

"But it didn't hit the telephone pole, presumably the object that was standing the shortest distance behind the victim. So where, detective, did that mess go?" I folded my arms in anticipation of her answer.

"... It was on the defendant's shirt."

This was my big moment. I pointed to Detective Rayne, arm outstretched, and delivered my final blow. "Therefore, the bullet found in the telephone pole was not the bullet that went through the victim's head. That can only mean that when the second shot was fired, Detective Gumshoe was standing behind the victim!"

"Objection!" But Edgeworth could barely be heard over the ensuing tumult. The audience was in an uproar.

"Order! Order!" the judge shouted to silence the cacophony, pounding his gavel repeatedly.

"I object to the defense's claim," Edgeworth repeated after the noise had subsided. "This doesn't prove that the defendant did not shoot the victim, it only changes where he was standing at the time! He could have grabbed her from behind and shot her in the head just as easily!"

"Objection!" I shot back. "It proves everything! Why would the detective grab the victim from behind when they were talking face-to-face only seconds before? And why would he shoot her in the head at such an awkward angle, through the forehead, when it would mean shooting himself in the shoulder?"

This caused another ruckus, and after a round of gavel-banging, the judge looked to Edgeworth. "Well? Does the prosecution dispute this theory?"

Edgeworth gritted his teeth. Finally, he grudgingly admitted, "... It is a plausible theory." I smiled triumphantly, certain now that I'd won the argument. "However, it is wrong."

"What?" I stared at the prosecutor incredulously. How could he possibly continue to argue against the evidence? Especially when it was Gumshoe's life on the line!

"Do you have something to back up this claim, Mr. Edgeworth?" the judge asked, looking almost as stunned as I felt.

"Someone, actually. The prosecution would like to call its next witness to the stand..."

I had a sinking feeling I knew the name already. The worst part was, it was my own fault she was here.

"The prosecution calls to the stand... Miss Ida Baker."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

February 12, 10:20 a.m., District Court, Courtroom B

After a five minute recess, the bailiff brought Ida Baker to the witness stand, where she stood and fidgeted nervously with her apron. The poor girl was still wearing her Dippy Donuts uniform. As the judge pounded his gavel to call the court back into session, she jumped. Twitchy as a spooked hare, I thought, and for some reason my internal monologue had taken on the voice of Lotta Hart, that crazy photographer with the country accent. I shook my head to clear it, and focused on Ida. Edgeworth was already asking her for her testimony.

Immediately I could see that something was wrong. She was pale and shaking, and her face looked shiny with sweat. Strange. Was she ill, or did courtrooms make her that nervous? Or... was she going to lie in her testimony? I may have only been a "rookie" attorney, but I had enough experience with lying witnesses to recognize the warning signs. Miss Baker might as well have been holding a neon sign above her head saying: "I know something, but I'm not going to tell you the truth!" It seemed as though Edgeworth had given her some "coaching" beforehand; no doubt to make sure she didn't spill the beans about his involvement.

"State your name and occupation."

"Ida Baker. I work at Dippy Donuts as a waitress." Her voice only held a little bit of a quaver, but she was staring straight ahead, and looked a little glassy-eyed. She was trying very hard not to give anything away.

"Can you tell us what you were doing at the time of the murder?"

She almost fell to pieces right there. Gripping the podium so hard her knuckles bleached, Ida leaned forward and swallowed before answering, "I was... I came into work to pick up my paycheck on Friday. I spoke with Detective Gumshoe before heading into the back room for my check. After picking it up, I left out the back door. I saw the detective arguing with a short woman. Then, he... he shot her. I ran off after that and called the police. Anonymously, of course." That was it. She clamped her mouth shut after that, as if afraid something else would spill out. I almost wished something had spilled out just then, something that would give me a foothold. As it stood, Ida's startling testimony was as good as a signed death warrant for Gumshoe. Why hadn't she mentioned any of this before?

"The defense may begin its cross-examination."

I stood and took my time, counting on the witnesses nervous state to work in my favor. If she cracked before I did any real questioning, I wouldn't have to work hard at all. That, and I was reluctant to press her really hard. She seemed like a nice girl, after all. It wasn't her fault if Edgeworth was forcing her to cover something up for him. Finally, when it seemed as though Edgeworth was going to object to my lengthy pause, I spoke.

"Miss Baker, what did you and the detective talk about when you saw him?"

"T-talk about? Oh, uh, nothing important," she responded a little too quickly. "He, uh, looked upset about something, is all."

"Did he say why--"

"Objection!" Edgeworth slammed his hands on his desk. Now he was looking a bit pale. "Irrelevant!"

"Is this line of questioning going anywhere, Mr. Wright?" the judge asked.

"It most certainly is, your Honor," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. If I couldn't get her to crack... "May I continue?"

"Objection overruled. Please continue." Edgeworth looked like he wanted to strangle me. I almost felt sorry for him, but there was part of me that was more angry with him for not standing up for Detective Gumshoe. If he knew what had really happened, how could he sit by like this? No, he wasn't even sitting by silently! He was actively seeking a guilty verdict! I couldn't forgive him for that, no matter what his reasons.

"I repeat the question: Why was the detective upset? Did he, perhaps, mention meeting somebody?"

It was a long shot, and I was taking my chances by asking such a leading question. Officially, there was nothing on record stating that Miss Baker knew anything about the meeting. However, Gumshoe's initial statement had mentioned that he had gone to the parking lot with the intention of meeting with the victim. It wasn't as though I were grasping at nonexistant straws.

Ida thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes. He mentioned the reporter. He said he was meeting her later that evening."

"That just confirms the defendant's statement," Edgeworth interjected. "All this does is prove that the suspect is guilty of premeditated murder!"

"Not necessarily," I countered. "Miss Baker, how long were you at the Dippy Donuts?"

"About fifteen minutes. It was almost closing time. I left just as the shop was closing, out the back door, like I said."

"Does that door open onto the parking lot where the murder took place?"

"Y-yes. There is only one back door. I... I didn't leave right away. I saw everything."

I nodded. So, she had witnessed the murder itself, and had been trying to hide it until Detective Rayne dragged her off for questioning. No wonder she was nervous. That Rayne was one tough cookie. Maybe Edgeworth hadn't had anything to do with her twitchiness, after all.

"Can you please tell us more about what happened between Detective Gumshoe and Ms. Rotzi?" I asked next. One of those "gut feelings" had taken over; I had a feeling this was important. "What were they arguing about?"

"The detective wanted some pictures from the camera lady. She wouldn't give them to him, so he tried to take her camera. They wrestled over the camera for a moment, then the detective pulled out his gun and shot her right in the head. One clean shot between the eyes! It was horrible! Blood went everywhere."

She was really getting into this now, it seemed. Some of her nervousness faded as she recounted the story with something disturbingly akin to enthusiasm. I raised an eyebrow. Something was very, very wrong with this testimony. Actually, there were several things wrong with it. So many loose threads that I didn't know which one to pull first. All I knew was that if I pulled the wrong one, it might just knot up this witness more tightly, but if I pulled the correct one, her testimony would unravel completely.

"Only one shot, Miss Baker?"

The look she gave me reminded me of the way an animal stares at an oncoming car's headlights, unable to move or think. "Uh. No, wait. There were... two. Yes, two shots, now that I think about it. One shot went wild and hit a pole or something, I think."

"And how did the shot 'go wild'?"

"Uh, well, the camera lady grabbed the detective's wrist and shoved it away, so his first shot didn't hit her. But he brought it right back and shot her in the head after that."

The audience was already muttering amongst themselves. It seemed that even they had picked up on the contradiction. "Miss Baker, your testimony matches up with everything the detective told us... except for a few hugely glaring errors!" I struck my pose, pointing directly at the witness and fixing her with what I liked to think of as my "irresistable stare of justice."

"Would you care to explain what those errors are, Mr. Wright?" asked the judge, though even he seemed to realize the problem. I had to give him credit; usually it took him much longer to catch on.

"Gladly. Miss Baker, your testimony fails to explain one very important thing: how Detective Gumshoe ended up with a bullet in his own shoulder!"

"Wha-WHAT?!" she shrieked. "He-he was shot?!" Her surprise had already marked her in my book.

"Not only that, but you fail to mention how the contents of Ms. Rotzi's skull wound up splattered all over the detective's shirt!"

"OBJECTION!" Edgeworth roared. "The prosecution objects to the defense's poor taste in wording!"

"Sustained," the judge ruled, looking a little green himself. I scratched my head sheepishly. Oops, I guess I did go a little overboard... "Was that all you were objecting to, prosecutor?"

"No. The prosecution also objects to the defense's badgering of the witness. She's obviously confused and nervous. I motion that she be allowed to testify on this matter once more."

The judge nodded and gestured for Baker to speak. "Go ahead then."

"O-okay," she mumbled, still looking a bit shaken. "I must have forgotten to mention it, but I did see the detective standing behind the woman when the gun was fired. While they were struggling, he got behind her and tried to put her in some kind of hold, and she grabbed his wrist. The first shot went wild and hit the pole, but the second..." She swallowed here, and I could swear there were tears welling up in her eyes. What a ham. "The second shot happened just as she was twisting his wrist to try to get the gun away from him. It... it was a terrible accident. It went right through her head, and it must have hit the detective's shoulder, but I couldn't see it because he was behind her."

The judge looked very grave. Uh oh, that was never a good sign. It meant that he was just about convinced that it was time to give his verdict. "This testimony seems very decisive to me. As it stands, I could easily pass a 'Guilty' verdict. Do you have any further questions, Mr. Wright?"

I was at a loss. How could I come up with any evidence that contradicted this testimony? It was practically airtight. I knew she was lying about something, but how could I prove it? I stole a quick look through my notes and the court record. Then, something caught my eye. It was a scrap of notebook paper from yesterday, on which I'd hastily scribbled my notes while questioning Detective Rayne. The victim's "measurements" stood out clearly on the yellow paper, and something clicked in my memory.

"I have one more question for you, Miss Baker," I began, closing my folder and holding up the scrap of yellow paper. "How could a woman of Ms. Rotzi's petite stature possibly wrestle both a camera and a gun out of Detective Gumshoe's hands? Especially when he outweighs her by over one hundred pounds!"

There was a collective gasp from the audience, and then the courtroom erupted in angry murmurs. "Is that lawyer sexist?" "What if she was taking martial arts or something!" "No, he's got a point. That Gumshoe guy is huge!"

Wearily, the judge brought his gavel down for order. "Everyone, quiet down or I'm having you all thrown out!" A hush settled over the crowd. "Very well, then. You have a valid point, Mr. Wright. Miss Baker, do you have an explanation for this?"

"..." She was speechless. The waitress' mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish trying unsuccessfully to breathe air, but no words came forth. Then, with a soft moan, she fainted dead away.

This caused another stir, but the judge quickly brought the situation under control by calling an end to the day's trial. "We will continue this case tomorrow. Court is adjourned!"

February 12, 12:05 p.m., Detention Center

After a brief lunch that I'd barely tasted, I hurried over to the detention center to see Detective Gumshoe. There was something that had been bothering me since that morning. I had to know what was going on between him and Edgeworth, even though part of me really didn't want to know such disturbing personal details. If it was important enough for Gumshoe to give up his life for it, then it was probably the key to winning this whole trial. Unfortunately, getting to the truth of the matter might be more painful for all parties involved.

They brought him out at my request, and he looked even worse than before. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot and his nose looked bigger and redder than usual. "Detective!" I exclaimed. "You look awful! Are you sick?"

"No," he said thickly, and the catch in his voice alarmed me even more than his appearance.

"Detective Gumshoe. Have you been... crying?" I could hardly imagine it. Sure, the big guy could be a little on the sensitive side, but I'd never actually seen him break down like this. It was unnerving, to say the least.

He sniffled and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. I motioned to the security guard, and they brought a box of tissues. The detective took one with a grateful nod and blew his nose loudly. "It's nothing for you to worry about, pal. I'm just so moved, you know?"

"No, I don't know," I replied, still feeling a little disconcerted by the sight of Gumshoe actually crying. It felt wrong, somehow, like I'd witnessed something I really shouldn't have.

"Like I said, don't worry about it. I'm grateful you're trying so hard for my sake, but it's not worth it." He blew his nose again, and added the spent tissue to a steadily growing pile. "You're not going to get me out of this one."

"I could, if you'd just tell me what happened!" I told him, exasperated. "What does Edgeworth have to do with all this? Why are you protecting him? Especially since he's..." I couldn't even say it, I was so angry. What kind of man stood up in court and prosecuted his own friend, even when he knew the man was innocent?!

"Please, pal. Don't say anything bad about Mr. Edgeworth," Gumshoe pleaded quietly, resting his head on his hand and scrubbing at his nose with another tissue. "It's not... None of this is his fault."

I was flummoxed. "How... how can you say that?"

"Because it's true." He finally met my gaze steadily, without flinching or looking away. "This is my own problem, and I'm not dragging Mr. Edgeworth's good name through the dirt along with my own if I can help it!"

We locked stares for what seemed like hours, though in reality it was probably only half a minute. He looked away first. "Look, pal... I'm sorry. You're a good guy-- good attorney, too. I've seen you turn cases around so fast that sometimes it seems like magic. But there's no way you can win this one." He stood up then, and walked back through the door without a second glance back at me.

I pressed my palm to the bulletproof glass as if I could reach through it and stop him. As if I could stop him from throwing his life away for a man who didn't seem to care about him at all. However, all I felt was the cool, smooth resistance of the glass.

February 12, 12:15 p.m., Criminal Affairs Department

Feeling more dejected than before, I walked through the building slowly as I digested this turn of events. If Gumshoe continued to refuse my help, then he was as good as dead. To save him, I'd need to find a way to make him talk about what had really happened, and to tell me about Edgeworth's role in all this. But what? What could possibly convince him to trust me?

"Mr. Wright." I turned at the brisk salutation, surprised to see Detective Rayne striding towards me. She held a manila folder in her hand, and was shoving it at me. "I believe you should take a look at these."

"Detective Rayne?" I took the folder with some bemusement and quirked an eyebrow at the detective. "I thought you weren't going to share evidence with me. After all, you're helping the prosecution."

"This isn't about who's on which side," she said, waving her hand impatiently as if swatting away flies. "It's about finding the truth... and making sure an innocent man doesn't have to die for a crime he didn't commit." My surprise must have been written all over my face, because she gave me another one of those tight smiles. "I know Detective Gumshoe. He's not the sort of man to kill someone over a few photographs. Even though, as you'll soon see, those photographs are..." she cleared her throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable, "... pretty, ah, incriminating."

I gave her a blank stare, but she just nodded to the folder in my hand. I opened it. What I saw inside made my mouth go dry and my stomach twist. So this was what Detective Gumshoe was trying to hide from me?

"Thank you, Detective Rayne," I said faintly, the words sounding tinny and far away. "I think this will help my case immensely."

She said something I didn't catch, then turned sharply on her heel and hurried off in the other direction. I didn't even notice. I flipped through the photographs, each one more shocking than the next. No wonder Gumshoe was keeping this a secret. Part of me wished it had stayed that way.

There was no help for it now, though. I had what I needed. Now I needed to convince Gumshoe to talk to me again. I had a feeling that this was all the evidence I would need to make him confess to everything.

I was doing the right thing, of that I could be one-hundred percent certain. Why, then, did I feel so dirty?


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

February 12, 2:00 p.m., Detention Center

I didn't go back to the detention center immediately, even though it would have been more convenient that way. Instead, I went back to my office for about an hour and mulled over the new evidence that Detective Rayne had given me. The manila folder sat on my desk expectantly, and every time I looked at it I could swear it was leering at me.

It was difficult to describe the feelings those pictures aroused in me. Gah, wait, poor choice of words! Not "aroused" so much as... _induced_. Yes, induced; that was a nice, safe, neutral word. However, "induced" didn't even begin to suggest at the heat that rose in my cheeks and the nosebleed that threatened to erupt every time I glanced over at those photographs. There were only four of them, but somehow they managed to be more intimidating than every prosecutor I had ever known. No, really, no exaggeration. Combine Edgeworth, both Von Karmas, and even Payne, and they still wouldn't even come close to how these pictures affected me.

By the time I'd finally come to terms with the contents of the manila folder, it was almost two o'clock, so I steeled my nerves and marched back to the detention center. Well, marched to the bus stop, then rode the bus, then marched-- you get the idea. It was time to confront Gumshoe on this matter once and for all.

He looked surprised to see me again. "Look, pal, if you think you're going to change my mind..."

I pulled out the first photograph and slapped it up against the glass. Detective Gumshoe paled and sat heavily in the chair on his side of the divider. "Talk," I demanded.

For a second, I worried that I'd gone too far, and that he'd start crying again. I don't think I could have handled a blubbering Gumshoe after all I'd been through that day. Luckily for me, he merely took a deep breath and started talking. I sighed with relief and took my own chair.

"It's not what it looks like," he began.

"Then please, enlighten me," I retorted. "Because it looks an awful lot like..."

"I know what it LOOKS like, pal!" He huffed and crossed his arms, cheeks burning red. "That's why I said 'it's not what it looks like', see? People always jump to conclusions when they see something like that."

"Well, then tell me what conclusion I _should_ have reached, because I am frankly at a loss."

He gave me that kicked puppy look, and I regretted being so harsh with him. "Gee, pal, you can be as mean as a prosecutor when you really want to be." Ouch.

"I'm sorry. Just... please, tell me what this is supposed to mean."

Sighing heavily, he made a twirling gesture with his finger, indicating that I should turn the photo around. "Give it another look, would you?" I did, even though my eyes had already been seared with the afterimage of that photo. I could practically draw it from memory-- not that I'd ever want to!

It was Detective Gumshoe and Prosecutor Edgeworth, locked in what appeared to be a passionate kiss. Their faces were flushed and slightly shiny, as if damp from sweat. Gumshoe was shirtless and straddling Edgeworth's prone body on hands and knees. The prosecutor was still clothed, but the detective seemed to be untying his frilly cravat. Looking at this again was making me blush, and I wasn't sure if it was because I was embarrassed to be looking at it, or... something else. I put those thoughts out of my head immediately. They certainly weren't going to help me with Gumshoe's problem.

"I'm looking at it," I prompted, hoping that next he'd tell me I could _stop_ looking at it.

"Looks bad, doesn't it? Really, uh, incriminating?"

Almost word for word what Detective Rayne had said earlier. "Ah-yup. Drop the other shoe, Gumshoe."

"Here's what really happened... Mr. Edgeworth has been staying in a hotel for the past week while his house is being painted. The fumes bother him, see? Anyway, I was bringing him some things from his house so he wouldn't have to trouble himself to go back in there for them.

"He invited me to stay for a drink, and I did. They have a really nice minibar in Mr. Edgeworth's room. Well, we got caught up talking about past cases, and one drink turned into five or six, and I thought it'd be a nifty idea to go try out the hotel jacuzzi. Mr. Edgeworth said okay, but that he wasn't going in with me, and I said he could just sit in a pool chair and talk with me.

"We got down there, and..."

"Wait, wait," I interrupted, holding up a hand. "You two got drunk together, then went for a dip in the hot tub?"

"No, he didn't want to go in the water," Gumshoe reminded me. "Just bear with me, pal, okay? It'll all make sense when I'm finished." I doubted it, but let him continue. "Anyway... where was I? Ah, right. We got down to the pool and I just went in wearing my shorts-- forgot to bring trunks, but it was late so nobody else was there to care. Talked for a little while longer, and then..." He coughed. "Uh, well, Mr. Edgeworth had a few too many to drink, I suppose, because all of a sudden he toppled right out of his pool chair into the jacuzzi."

"He what?!" I stared at Gumshoe. Then, unable to contain myself, I laughed hysterically.

"Hey, pal! It's not funny!" he said, looking angry and a little hurt on Edgeworth's behalf. "I was really scared! Not to mention, I was three sheets to the wind myself, so I didn't do such a great job rescuing him. By the time I got him out of the tub, he'd swallowed a lot of water. I laid him out on the floor, loosened that froofy tie-thing he wears all the time, and gave him mouth-to-mouth. That's when the pictures must have been taken."

I blinked and looked at the pictures with new eyes. When explained that way, the pictures made perfect sense. Edgeworth certainly didn't seem responsive, at second glance. His arms were down by his sides, his eyes were closed, and the muscles of his face were slack. The detective's expression seemed more "worried" now than "intensely passionate", as I'd assumed (though thinking of Gumshoe with an "intensely passionate" expression made me a little ill). Even the slight flush to their cheeks was understandable, given how much alcohol they'd consumed.

"Well, that certainly clears some things up," I said thoughtfully, rubbing my chin. So, there really weren't any illicit relations between Edgeworth and Gumshoe? That was a relief. Although, Gumshoe hadn't denied it when I asked him if he really loved Edgeworth... But that wasn't important at the moment. "It still doesn't make total sense to me, though. Why, if this was just a big misunderstanding, wouldn't you tell me about what happened?"

Gumshoe was back to looking miserable. "Mr. Edgeworth... didn't know about the pictures. He told me not to tell anyone about what happened that night, because he was embarrassed for getting so drunk. It's not something he does very often, you know? Anyway, when that Rotzi woman told me about those pictures, and threatened to publish them, I knew I had to keep it to myself. Mr. Edgeworth would have my job if he knew that anyone had found out-- not to mention what sort of assumptions people would make, seeing those pictures! You see why I had to keep my big mouth shut, pal?"

"You wanted to protect his reputation." Gumshoe nodded glumly. "Well, I guess that's a noble thing to do, but why didn't you go to Edgeworth for help when that woman started blackmailing you?"

He looked at me as though I'd grown a second head. "Do you really think he would have wanted me to bother him with something like that? Mr. Edgeworth is an important man, not like me. He doesn't have time for trivial stuff like that."

"I wouldn't call it trivial. After all, you're on trial for murder now because of it." I paused, a horrible realization dawning on me. "You... you still haven't told him, have you? That's why he's still prosecuting you! He doesn't even _know_?!"

"Of course he doesn't, and he won't." The detective had that stubborn look again. "If I tell him... If I reveal what happened in court, _she'll_ make things worse."

"Who's 'she'?"

"...I can't tell you."

I made a frustrated noise and slammed my hands down on the table. "Detective Richard Gumshoe, so help me, if you don't tell me what's going on right now, I'll go show these pictures to Edgeworth myself!"

In all the time I've known Detective Gumshoe, I don't think I've ever seen him look so stunned. "You... you..."

"Yes, I would," I confirmed, before he could finish his sentence. "I'll go straight to his office from here if I have to!"

"No, not that," he said, shaking his head. "You used my first name. When did I ever tell you my first name?"

I just about fell through the floor. How could he be so clueless sometimes? "Detective... when we first met, you introduced yourself as 'Dick Gumshoe'. Unless your parents were really lazy, 'Dick' is just a nickname for 'Richard'. Sort of like how Maya always calls me 'Nick' because it's short for 'Phoenix'. You understand now?"

"Oh. Right. Well... I guess you're going to have to do what you need to do, because I'm not saying another word!" He mimed zipping his mouth shut and folded his arms obstinately.

"Your diehard attitude is commendable," I said dryly. "I just wish you wouldn't use it on me." With a sigh, I put the photos back into their folder and stood from my chair. "I'm going to talk with Edgeworth. Surely there's something he can do to help."

Gumshoe looked anxious, but didn't try to stop me. "... If you think it's best," he mumbled.

I nodded. "I think it would have been best if you'd told him from the start." At his startled look, I added, "Real friends don't think your problems are "trivial", especially when it involves them as well. I'll see you tomorrow, Detective Gumshoe."

With that parting tidbit of wisdom, I left the detention center and headed for the courthouse.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

February 12, 3:15 p.m., High Prosecutor's Office, Room 1202

I stood outside Edgeworth's office door, sweating bullets and unable to knock. The manila folder I held now bore two damp sets of fingerprints where I was gripping it so tightly. Just when I was ready to turn around and pretend that I had no business being there, the door opened on its own.

Staring at me with his usual scowl was Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. He seemed mildly bewildered at seeing me outside his door, but hid his surprise well. "Wright," he stated. It was neither question nor greeting, just an acknowledgment that I was there, standing in front of his door clutching a manila envelope full of pictures of him kissing...

_No, not kissing. It wasn't a kiss, it was CPR_, I had to remind myself. So why did I feel the heat rising in my face every time I thought about it? Why did my stomach twist so sharply at the thought of these particular two individuals engaging in, er, "romantic activities"?

_Maybe it's because even the hypothetical idea of them together, when Edgeworth treats Gumshoe so badly, makes me sick, _I decided, the anger rising in me and erasing any doubts I had about coming here. "Edgeworth, we need to talk."

I shoved past him into his office, eliciting an indignant, sputtering reaction from Edgeworth that normally would have amused me. "Please, Wright," he invited dryly as he regained his composure, "invade my office at your leisure. Goodness knows I've nothing better to do than entertain your endless prying into my personal matters."

"That's exactly why I'm here, actually," I told him, turning to face the prosecutor as he closed his office door. "Edgeworth, drop the case. I have enough evidence already to cast reasonable doubt on Gumshoe's involvement in the murder. You can just throw the case, or let someone else..."

"I can't do that, Wright," he interrupted, folding his arms and giving me one of those aloof glares. "You know that I never 'throw' a case. It's a matter of personal and professional pride. I couldn't let anyone else handle this case, either, for the same reason."

"Then you're saying you would condemn an innocent man-- and a friend-- to death, for your own pride?!"

He set his jaw stonily. "He hasn't been proven innocent yet, Wright. How do I know he didn't really kill that reporter?"

I gaped at him openly, shocked that he could even think such a thing. "You know he's innocent!" I exploded. "Why else would you have asked me to defend him?!"

"Because I knew that if he _were_ innocent, you would do everything in your power to prove it," he answered easily. "So, can you prove it?"

"I can prove that he's willing to die rather than soil your spotless reputation!" I snarled, flinging the folder at him. He fumbled it, and managed to grab the edge of the folder itself, but the photographs tumbled out and drifted to the floor like autumn leaves.

Kneeling down, he tried to scoop the pictures back into the folder, but paused as he caught sight of the contents. I held my breath. The prosecutor had gone very still, but he couldn't control the trembling of his hands as he slowly lifted each photograph off the floor. He stood, though his legs didn't seem to want to support him, so he took a shaky step backwards and dropped onto the couch. "These are..."

"You know when these were taken," I said, no less sternly, but in a quieter tone. "You remember the promise you made Gumshoe keep. You didn't want anyone to know. Well, he got himself into this because of his promise to you. He kept these pictures a secret, even from you, and when he tried to get them back..." I shook my head. "I know he didn't do this. Someone else had to have been involved."

"But you still don't have proof, do you?" The challenge was back in his voice, though he still appeared to be shaken by the news. "You can't point to the real killer."

"Not yet, but I've got a hunch, and it's only a matter of time before I find the evidence to back it up," I promised, sounding more confident than I felt. It was a tactic I used in the courtroom; Mia called it "Fake it 'til you make it." I was pretty sure I could figure this out, too, but at the moment I was just trying to get Edgeworth to stop looking so hopeless. Funny, I was ready to punch him in the eye just a minute ago, and now I wanted to make him feel better. "Anyway, I don't think you should be on this case. If you got Gumshoe the death penalty, how could you live with yourself?"

He stared at me then, gray eyes blazing. "Detective Gumshoe is his own man, and can make his own decisions. It's not my job to babysit him!"

"But if you keep fighting for a guilty verdict, you're effectively saying that his loyalty means nothing to you!"

A harsh, short laugh escaped him. "Do you really believe that?" He dropped the folder on the couch and stood, striding the short three steps to reach me. Though he didn't touch me, his presence was undeniable-- especially with that measly inch of height advantage he had over me. "Tell me, Wright, if I really wanted to get Gumshoe pronounced guilty, would I have called you to be his defense? You, the only attorney who has ever defeated me in all these years?"

That had me speechless. Was he saying...?

"Yes, Wright. I have to stay on this case. Believe me, it's not what I wanted, but I had no choice. If I were to suddenly pass this off onto somebody else, do you realize how suspicious that would make me look? People are already whispering rumors about myself and the good detective." His scowl was downright thunderous. "You condemn me for my pride, but I'm telling you now that I've swallowed every ounce of pride I had to ask you this favor! You, the only defense attorney who ever defeated me in court after all these years. I've done everything I possibly can to ensure that Detective Gumshoe receives a 'not guilty' by the end of this trial. It's in your hands now, Wright. You are the only person who can save him."

Tension sang between us like electrical wires. He was so close, I could have touched him just by breathing too deeply. "Edgeworth, I... I didn't know." I swallowed hard. "So, you really do care?"

His shoulders drooped a little, and he rubbed his forehead with one hand as he turned and leaned against the polished desk. "Of course I do. Why would I go to all this trouble if I didn't care, even a little bit? Detective Gumshoe is a valuable ally... and friend." That last part seemed to take a lot of courage to admit. "I just... I can't return the feelings... he has for me."

I felt my face burning through several different shades of red. "Wh-what do you mean, feelings?"

His knowing smirk was tempered with a sort of gentle regret. "Really, Wright, you hadn't noticed? The detective is smitten with me. He told me so that night those pictures were taken. It was, I'm embarrassed to admit, a bit too much for me to handle in my inebriated state, and I lost consciousness briefly. When I woke, Gumshoe was pumping water out of my lungs."

So, there were some feelings there, after all. Poor Gumshoe; having such a one-sided relationship with the prosecutor must have been torture for him. I almost felt ashamed for prying so deeply into this matter. There was no way any of this was going to help me in the courtroom tomorrow. "Edgeworth, if you know anything that might shed some light on this..."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Wright. If I did, I would have told you by now."

Turning to face me again, he hesitated when he realized how close I was still standing to him. Then, seeming to come to some sort of decision, he brought his hand up to my face. Two fingers drifted across my lower lip, and I froze, holding my breath for fear that any sort of movement would... what, I'm not sure. Encourage him? Frighten him away? I don't know which I feared more.

Just as suddenly, he moved away, and I blinked. He was behind his desk now, shuffling the photographs back into their folder. What had just happened? Or, rather, almost happened? "I'll be keeping these, if you don't mind. They have no bearing on the case. Except maybe for this one."

He handed me the last of the photos. I'd overlooked it before, because it wasn't like the other three. At first, I'd mistaken it for a fluke. Looking more closely, however, I realized that it was a picture of a gloved hand... holding a gun! It was a little blurry, but it couldn't be anything else. The end of the gun was pointed at a pale, roundish shape that was even more out of focus than the hand and the gun. I couldn't figure out what it was. "How could this possibly help?"

"I'm already helping you as much as I can. If I told you anything more, it would be compromising my responsibility as your opposition." He folded his arms and looked away.

I blinked, then smirked at him. "You don't know, either, do you?"

Edgeworth was too pale to hide the sudden rush of pink in his cheeks. "... You'd better get going, Wright. You have a case to prepare for tomorrow."

Giving him an exaggerated wink, I replied, "Sure, sure. Of course. Well, Edgeworth, thanks for your help. I won't let you down." Reaching over the desk, I offered him my hand. He hesitated, then took it in a firm grip and shook it once.

"I hope, for all our sakes, that you'll be able to uphold that promise." His expression was unreadable. Giving my hand one last, light squeeze, he released it. "Good luck, Wright."

As I left the office, I found myself bringing a hand up to my mouth, wondering about Edgeworth's actions. The look in his eyes had frightened me a little, but at the same time I found myself... curious. What did he want from me? More importantly, was it something I was willing to give him?

Edgeworth's parting words made me sigh. "Luck," I muttered to myself. "I'll need more than that to win this case."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_Day Three. February 13, 9:45 a.m., District Court Defendant Lobby No. 3_

That morning, I had woken up with a desperate, fleeting impulse to call in sick. This case had just gotten far too weird, and too personal, for me to think clearly about it. However, I had to press on, or Gumshoe would be a doomed man. I had to give my best effort. I owed him that much, at least.

The thought of facing Edgeworth in court today gave me yet another surge of trepidation. After what had happened last night... Well, suffice to say, I'd walked away from his office with more questions than answers. Not to mention, he still had those "incriminating" photos in his office, save the one he'd returned to me. If I wanted to solve this case and prove Gumshoe's innocence, it seemed I would have to do things the hard way. Like always.

Steeling my resolve, I made my way to the courthouse and prepared to meet with my client for the second day of the trial.

Gumshoe looked, if possible, even worse than usual. He'd been given a clean shirt, at least, so there was no more blood on his shoulder. I could still see the outline of bandages beneath the thin fabric, but at least he'd been allowed to clean up a bit. Not that it would make much difference. His chance to make a first impression on the courtroom was long gone; even if it hadn't been, the look on his face was like a man already being led to the gallows. His eyes were deeply shadowed, the five o'clock shadow was creeping up on nine o'clock, and his normally spiky and well-groomed hair was limp and messy. He even looked thinner than usual (what were they feeding him, and was he even eating it?), and I thought his cheeks looked a bit hollow. Despite his new shirt, he looked like a man who had been drinking heavily for a few days straight. But Gumshoe hadn't had any access to alcohol in jail, so it was probably more the look of a man waiting for his inevitable death. How very depressing.

"Chin up, Detective," I greeted him, putting on my game face. It had been my mentor, Mia Fey, who'd told me that an attorney was someone who always smiled, no matter how bad it got. I wondered who had told _her_that, but it was an edict I tried to follow, for my clients' sakes. "I'll win your acquittal. That's a promise."

This time, he didn't even try to smile for me. He just nodded and shuffled into the courtroom after the bailiff. I felt my confidence flagging in the face of such determined defeatism. Whatever had happened to change Gumshoe so dramatically was more disturbing than those photographs I'd seen.

I took a deep breath. Well. It was time to put a smile back on the detective's face. No matter what it took. I walked into the courtroom and took my place at the defense's table.

_February 13, 10:00 a.m., District Court, Courtroom B_

It was the second day of the trial, so it was no surprise that the courtroom was already abuzz. The whispers in the gallery were loud enough to make it difficult to think, much less carry on a trial. The judge banged his gavel loudly, threatened holding everyone in contempt of court, and finally got them to settle down enough to begin the trial.

"I hope this won't be a problem anymore today," he began, glaring around at the cowed onlookers. "Now, if we may begin...?"

"The defense is ready, Your Honor."

"The prosecution is ready." I stole a glance at Edgeworth. As usual, there was no outward sign that any of this bothered him. Chilly bastard.

"Then please, call your witness, Mister Edgeworth."

The prosecutor adjusted his cravat slightly and paused for dramatic effect. I could see, however, that his hesitation was not entirely for theatrical reasons: he was actually uncomfortable for some reason. That send a lump of foreboding straight to my gut. Could he possibly...?

"The prosecution calls Detective Richard Gumshoe to the stand."

Oh no, he didn't.

He did.

_Bastard!_

"Why didn't you call Ida Baker back to the stand?" I demanded, forgetting courtroom protocol for the moment. The judge was taken aback by my outburst, but it seemed that he, too, was curious, as he didn't reprimand me. We both looked to Edgeworth expectantly.

Unruffled as ever, he spread his hands apologetically. "Miss Baker is indisposed at the moment. She suffered quite a shock yesterday, and has not yet recovered. I request that she be excused from the proceedings until further notice."

I was furious. How could he keep such an important witness out of the courtroom?! She was vital to this case, I was sure of it! There had been something very wrong with her testimony the other day. Couldn't Edgeworth see that? I glared at him, trying to convey my thoughts through looks alone, but when he met my gaze I felt an odd chill scamper up the back of my neck. Had he just... _winked _at me? Okay, now I was thoroughly confused. As if I didn't have enough weirdness to deal with in this case.

"The defense has no objections, provided Miss Baker consents to return before this trial is over," I consented grudgingly. The judge nodded and motioned for the bailiff to bring Gumshoe to the stand.

I still didn't like this, but I had no choice. I just hoped that Gumshoe's testimony today would be as transparent as it had been in the detention center when I'd first spoken to him. If so, it wouldn't be too difficult to poke enough holes in his "story" to reveal the truth of this matter: namely, that Detective Gumshoe couldn't have possibly killed the reporter.

Edgeworth was going through the motions already. I had to pay attention, lest I miss something important. Was it just me, or did the prosecutor seem as though he were hurrying over the formalities? Gumshoe gave his name and occupation with wooden obedience, then began his halting testimony.

"It was... it was exactly how Ida said. I met Miss Rotzi in the back of the Dippy Donuts, about some pictures. We argued, and she tried to take my gun away. The gun fired once into that telephone pole. I got behind her and put her in a strangle hold, and she used both hands to twist my gun hand around. She was trying to shoot me, but my finger slipped and I fired the gun point blank into her head. It was an accident, that part, but I don't deny that it was my fault."

I was listening to Gumshoe's testimony, but it was pretty much just an obvious re-hashing of Ida's story from yesterday. I knew it had been a bad idea to let him testify, especially after hearing everyone else's theories on the case already. Gumshoe didn't have much in the way of imagination, but he could repeat things he'd heard with some amount of accuracy. Sometimes. I'd hoped he'd slip up enough to give me an opening, but it seemed fairly airtight. Except for one little detail. Thankfully, I held the piece of evidence in my own hands.

"When did this all take place?" I asked the detective.

Edgeworth cut in. "If you had read the autopsy report--"

"Actually, I wasn't given that information," I interrupted, a bit sharper than I'd intended. Edgeworth flinched visibly, then recovered and snapped his fingers. The report was placed on my desk. I flipped through it, and found the information I needed immediately.

"According to this, the murder took place at exactly ten o'clock in the evening. Is that correct, Detective?"

Gumshoe nodded, looking puzzled. Good; puzzled was much better than depressed. "Yeah, that sounds right, but what's it got to do with anything, pal?"

"Everything!" I had hit my stride now. Standing up straight, I prepared to deliver my triumphant piece of evidence. "I would like to submit to the court this photograph as evidence. A photograph taken by the victim herself!"

That got a rise out of the crowd. The judge didn't even have to bang his gavel this time. He just gave them the evil eye, and they shut up pretty quickly.

Edgeworth was looking at me strangely. "Wright, you can't possibly mean--?" Then, he caught himself and cleared his throat. "I mean, Your Honor, it's a bit late in the game to be submitting photographic evidence, is it not?" Even to me, his argument sounded weak.

"I see no problem with it," the judge replied, looking surprised as well. "After all, there was some question as to the contents of the victim's camera. I would personally like to see this photo."

I'll just bet you _would_, I thought dryly, though of course the judge couldn't have known about those _other_ photos. Guh, if he _had_... I didn't want to think about it.

I passed the photo along, and it was placed on the projector so everyone could see it. Gasps and murmurs followed. The image was a little blurry, but a white-gloved hand holding a gun could obviously be seen in the photo. Also, the time stamp in the upper left corner was clear as day for anyone to read: ten o'clock p.m., February tenth. The night, and indeed the exact time of the murder.

It was pivotal evidence. I gave myself a little pat on the back for realizing its significance in time. But I was just warming up.

"As you can see, this photograph was taken _by the victim's camera_ at the exact moment of the murder. The gun being fired in this picture is held by a _gloved_ hand, from an angle that would have been frankly impossible for the detective to accomplish considering the fact that he was standing behind the victim at the time the shot went off. So, you see, _a third person_ must have fired that shot!"

I awaited my applause. Of course, with Edgeworth prosecuting, it was never so easy. "Objection! It's a nice theory, Wright, but it's all conjecture. That hand in the photograph could be the victim's, just before the shot was fired!"

"But that doesn't fit with the testimony, or the evidence!" I protested. "If that really is the victim's hand, why is it holding the gun directly, and not the detective's wrist as was reported? Anyway, how would the victim have taken this picture_, if both of her hands were busy wrestling the gun from the detective, as he'd reported?_ Gumshoe wasn't wearing gloves, either, and that hand does not look like it belongs to him!"

"The photo is blurry. It could still be his hand. It is obviously too large to be the victim's hand. He might have discarded a glove between murdering the reporter and being discovered by the witness!"

"Ah, but when would he have had time to discard such important evidence so thoroughly,_when the witness was standing right there during the murder_?!"

"You have no proof there was anyone else there besides the victim and the defendant. The witness has testified to the contrary!"

"Exactly! Which is why I request that Ida Baker be brought back to the stand!" I slammed my hands on the table for emphasis. The crowd's response was one of recognition. They knew where this was going. Apparently, I was pretty predictable when I got worked up like this.

"What are you suggesting, Wright? That my witness was lying about a third party?" The room grew suddenly quiet. Edgeworth had that dangerous look in his eyes, the look that dared anyone to defy him.

I dared. "Not only that, but I propose that the third party--- rather, the real murderer in this case... was Ida Baker herself!"

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Author's Note:

I apologize for this fic taking... nine months to update. TT However, after breaking up with my fiance of nearly five years just before Valentine's Day, I didn't have the heart to finish writing this.

Then, Trials and Tribulations came out. My muse came crawling back (but not my ex-fiance, thank goodness), and I decided to finish this once and for all.

So, here is the newest chapter. I will have the final chapter and the epilogue(s?) up before the next Valentine's Day, if all goes well. Reviews do fuel my fire, so please leave a comment. :) Much love!


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